Count on Me
by Fridgeworks
Summary: Mr. Tom Harris is the strict English teacher, feared by all and very passionate about his work. Until one day a call comes in the middle of class and destroys the reputation he'd worked so long to create. A call from someone he hadn't heard from in too long. Someone who needs his help. Alex/Tom SLASH. T for language. Threeshot.
1. The Call

It was the middle of the school week, a hot sunny Wednesday after a boring lunch spent chewing brainlessly on a day old loaf of bread, a steal from the local bakery at half price, and obnoxiously slurping cold tea from an old, banged up sippy cup, because all the travel mugs were either lost or moldy.

Mr. Harris, Tom to his friends, was busily writing with a dying black pen on a whiteboard the differences between 'there' 'their' and 'they're' to a class of thankless, napping teens.

'Because high school students need to know the differences between these three vastly different and misused words.' Mr. Harris had announced to his students after the ringing of the bell and final trickle in of lackadaisical teenagers.

The reason for his impromptu, kindergarten level lecture? At least two-thirds of the students that had turned in their 'Is Torture Effective?' essays butchered the uses of 'their' 'there' and 'they're'.

So it was up to Mr. Harris, as a teacher with his students' futures in mind and high hopes for the few that wanted to succeed in life, to bore those who hadn't made such mistakes and bore those who had with an impromptu lesson on the three 'there's.

"While 'they're', the compact version of 'they are' is used as in '_They're_ going to the park after school to play football', merely an informative form of speaking, 'their' is purely possessive, most of you will recognize the usage in day to day life here at school: 'That was _their_ fault, I didn't force drugs onto th-" A cell phone cut him off, blaring out a low quality rendition of a TV theme song. Mr. Harris' back stiffened and he stared at the class accusingly. "Who's phone?"

At that everyone was awake, suspected students checking their pockets then looking back at Mr. Harris with expressions of triumph, 'not today Mr. Harris' they projected through smug smiles and half lidded eyes, while others grinned with realization and looked pointedly at their stern faced English teacher.

"It's your phone, Mr. Harris." One student pointed to his desk with a grin. "Sweet ringtone, by the way. I love that show, too." As though she should earn extra credit or lenience because she made a connection between her and the strict, assumed to live at the school, teacher.

Mr. Harris gave her a strange look, he didn't care about her choice in ringtones and in no way was he going to be lenient or give something even remotely similar to 'extra credit' and turned to check his desk where he'd thrown his phone that morning after a harrowing call from the devil. Sure enough there sat his flip top cell, lighting up urgently and skittering in a frantic circle as it vibrated and rang incessantly.

"Thanks, Sadie." He said half-heartedly, grabbing the phone and checking the caller ID dismissively, prepared to silence it and move along with no more fanfare then froze.

In black pixels and blinking like the countdown numbers on a bomb, '_Bond JR' _was scrawled across the display screen_. _Mr. Harris' heart stuttered to a halt and his mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Disobeying all that he stood for as a teacher and example to the future tax payers of Great Britain, Mr. Harris flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear, moving to the temporary cover of the corner by his desk and hunching his shoulders.

From their desks the students strained forward eagerly and silence fell suddenly as everyone sought to hear the conversation that would make Mr. Stick-Up-the-Ass ditch his class.

"Tom." A familiar voice rasped in a breathy whisper, distorted by the cheap cell speaker and almost unrecognizable. But it was unmistakable as a voice he hadn't heard in 5 years, a voice he hadn't expected to hear ever again. "Tom, I-I need y-your…help." The voice of Alex Rider.

Bracing himself against his desk with one hand, the other shaking as it held the phone to his ear, Tom loosed a shuddering breath he'd been holding in. "Can it wait?" he hissed and started at the hoarse quality of his own voice, tongue and mouth clearly no longer synced with voice box.

There was a seconds pause on the other side. "Not if you want me to…to bleed out on-on your c-carp-pet," a gasp of pained laughter, and eruptive coughing made Tom's eyes widen in alarm, but before he could express concern Alex continued in a more subdued tone, "Y-you…uh…still t-taking…those f-first aid cla-asses on the-on the side?"

"Er, yeah." Tom's thought process was slowly shutting down. There he was, talking almost calmly with his bleeding out ex-buddy in the middle of a class in which every student was now watching him intently and with bated breath as his face drained of color. Realization slammed into him with the force of a speeding train. "Shit, Alex, you don't mean-"

A collective gasp. Mr. Harris swear? Unheard of! Light whispering broke out across the room: 'Do you think-' 'I think-' 'Holy shit!' 'Isn't that against-' 'Shhhhh, we're trying to listen!' 'You shhhhh!' '_Sh!'_

"Y-y-yeah-yeah I-I do…mean…" The line fizzled off and for a few seconds Tom stared blankly at his phone. Mind whirring faster than ever and shuddering to a halt in one instant.

"Mr. Harris, are you okay?" Sadie piped up, breaking the silence that had fallen. Tom jerked away from his desk, facing his students with a look akin to that of a deer in head lights, brain jumpstarting as a litany of plaintive voices erupted from the silence.

"Mr. Harris, what happened?" "Who called?" "Can _I_ use my cell phone?" "Can I go to the bathroom?" "What was your ringtone from?" "Seriously, my bladder feels like it's got tiny little elves running around in it punching everything." "Did someone die?"

Tom blinked then used his special teacher powers to fake a recovery, fixing a stern countenance over the shell shocked . "I'm leaving, family emergency. A sub will be sent in shortly, Mr. Slivka or Ms. Kipling." he said in as normal a tone as possible as he grabbed his coat, bag and moved to the door, looking one last time at the class. "Don't make trouble or all your grades are dropping, very _very_ low."

He didn't know if it was his white countenance, despite all efforts to appear otherwise, or the urgency with which he spoke, but the class nodded almost in unison, a few agreeing verbally.

"What about the bathroom, Mr. Harris?" "Not my problem, Jim, pee in a cup if you can't hold it longer." There was a collective 'ew' and Jim's face was aghast. Mr. Harris sighed. "Fine, go."

Jim jumped up and ran out of the classroom before Tom, followed by muffled laughter from classmates. With one last small nod and a stern 'don't-you-dare-screw-up-anything' look, Tom left, walking until he was sure no one could see him then breaking into a hurried not quite run-but faster than a jog.

He stopped by the front office to say that he had to leave, family emergency being the reason given, and a teacher with a free period was called in to cover the rest of his classes.

Tom didn't wait any longer. He said a hasty goodbye, nodded absently to the well meaning words the new secretary sent him ('I hope they're okay' 'Take as long as you need off'), and ran to his car. Within minutes he was speeding to his flat, praying to the heavens that speedometer wielding cops weren't parked along his route.

….

Tom parked his car with little care next to the curb in front of his flat, turning off the ignition and making it to the door in record time.

Trying the door knob, he found it was unlocked, no surprise if Alex really was there. Tom threw his keys into a bowl by the front door as he hurried straight to the living room, the only carpeted area in the flat he could think of that was close enough to the door for an injured person to reach.

"Alex!" Tom exclaimed, seeing the slumped and curled up form of the spy on the living room floor. He'd half doubted the validity of the phone call, pranksters were getting more and more clever these days, but seeing Alex's blond hair matted down with blood, head curled against a chest also cradling a crooked, bent arm and hearing shallow, gasping breaths as cracked ribs tried to make room for expanding and depressing lungs disallowed any conspiracy theories.

Tom nearly had a heart attack. "Shit…Alex…" he stumbled back against the doorframe and stared unblinking at the crumpled shape.

"-ohm…?" clothing rustled as Alex struggled to raise his head and brown eyes fixed blearily on Tom's frozen figure. A bloody, chipped tooth smile spread over the spy's face for a second before it hurt too much and the head fell back down onto the ground with a soft thump. "Kn-knew…you'd…c'm…"

Brain jumping into hyper speed, Tom released his death grip on the doorway and moved slowly, as though approaching an injured animal, to kneel at Alex's side. "I-shite, man, bloody shite Alex." He muttered, hands twitching over Alex's torso.

It looked so bad, so…fatal. Tom froze again for a good fifteen seconds, until Alex moaned and in one effort managed to roll his body to face the teacher. "W'll?"

"It…um, shite man, I'm going to _have_ to take you to a hospital, my training does not cover gashes needing stitching and broken bones." Tom brought his hands back to his sides, fingers tensing in spasms as his gaze looked over the injured mass that was his ex-best friend.

"N-no." Brown eyes stared desperately up at him, surrounded by black bruising and hollow they gave off a feeling of urgency, of desperation at the height of seriousness. Tom flinched and stood.

"Fine, fine." He muttered. "I'll just go get my kit then, yeah? Don't die while I'm gone." he was only gone for a good half a minute, the first aid kit luckily being in a kitchen drawer maybe 10 yards away from where Alex had fallen. Coming back with the white box in hand, Tom dropped to his knees and touched Alex's shoulder. "I'm going to, uh, roll you slowly onto your back, any major injuries I must know about?"

Beads of sweat had formed on Alex's brow and he gasped a bit before he could speak. "N-no, and…m-my r-ribs are…j-jus-st br-bruised. 'M j-just ti-tired-d…"

After that the only sound was quiet, muffled moans and hissed cussing as Tom did his damn well best to clean and bandage the spy.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Tom sat back on his heels and let out a huge gusty breath. "Bloody hell, you are such a pain in the ass." He said, wiping his brow with a sleeve. Alex, now lying on his back as immobile as possible, wheezed out a chuckle and a sliver of a smile stretched his lips.

"A-always." He sniped, reminding Tom of the good old days nursing sprains and bruises after football practice. Tom smiled nostalgically, those really were the best years of his life, and looked around at the mess he'd made of the first aid kit, contents strewn about the floor after an incident earlier when he'd been looking for something and that something just wouldn't be found.

"Well, think you can make it to the couch?" he asked, "I have to clean this mess up and you're rather in the way."

Alex opened his eyes to slits and smiled weakly. "If you lend me half your body and all your strength…prolly." Tom nodded and stood, rocking back on his heels then stretched, feeling his joints pop and creak.

"I'm getting old." He sighed, rubbing his lower back where an ache was slowly blooming, and looked over at the couch. "Take it slow, yeah?"

Alex's eyes closed again and his chin tilted towards his chest in a tiny nod. "Th-that would be, eh, would b-be g-great." He labored a deep breath and gave up, face twisting with pain, and resumed shallow gasping.

So Tom leant back down, carefully looped one of Alex's arms around his shoulders, securing it with a hand, and gently heaved the spy up to rest heavily against him. Alex's breathing deteriorated further; he was no longer taking shallow, but safe breaths. Rattling gasps shook his already shaking body, and Tom tried to keep himself from hurrying the man to the couch a mere two feet away just to get the scare over with.

"Sh-shite." Alex mumbled as Tom helped him take slow, dragging steps across the carpet. "Th-this is" *gasp* "harder th-han" *gasp* "I-I-I'd i-imag-gined-d." Tom could only echo the sentiment by grunting, too out of breath to say much apart from 'Don't talk, move'.

Finally they reached the couch, it felt like they'd traveled miles and while Tom was all for dropping the injured spy onto the couch with no more than a 'howdy do' and collapse to the ground himself, he couldn't.

Instead he had to carefully lower Alex onto the couch, straining his once young and supple muscles in the effort to go slow and not injure him further. Alex's grip on his arm was tight and white knuckled, he exhaled hisses of restrained pain every few seconds when Tom accidentally jostled bruises and injured limbs.

When Alex's bum touched cushion there was a unanimous sigh of relief. Tom let Alex sink into the couch, grabbing a pillow to shove under the spy's neck from the foot of the couch then lifting Alex's feet to the end when torso and head were safely positioned.

That done, Tom collapsed where he'd been anchored and breathed out a heavy sigh. "Gods Alex, must you weigh so much?" he asked, half joking. An exhausted, strained smile passed over Alex's lips.

"It's-it's all m-muscle." He said weakly, the corners of his eyes crinkling humorously. "I un-unlike y-you, a-am f-f-fit-t."

Tom laughed and wiped sweat from his brow. "Oh please, I'm confident that I felt a jelly roll when my hand groped about your midsection for purchase." He snarked back.

Alex winced visibly. "B-b-butter f-fingers-s." he replied after recovering from a small coughing fit, Tom supposed that was all he could manage for laughter, or he was dying. It really was a toss-up at that point.

"Am not." Tom sniffed and crossed his arms. The façade malted away in a matter of seconds as pout turned to grin and he dissolved in laughter, Alex laughing/coughing/dying alongside.

"I-I think I'll just clean up…now." Tom said after a few good minutes of busting his sides with laughter, gasping a bit as he recovered his breath. A hand over his heart, as if to brace it, Tom stood with considerable effort and looked at the scattered band-aid cartons, surgical scissors and other medical paraphernalia.

A minute passed.

Finally Tom made a sound in the back of his throat like a dry gurgle and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Eh, it'll be there later." He looked back at Alex, who was watching him through half lidded, hazy eyes. "I think I have some soup left over. From…a few days ago, I think?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tom made his way laboriously into the kitchen and opened the fridge, collapsing against the open door as he peered owlishly inside.

"Soup, soup, soup, soup." He murmured. "If I were soup, where would I hi-ah!" with a cry of success, Tom rescued a cylindrical tupperware container out from under a foul smelling sandwich he'd forgotten to wrap up in plastic wrap days ago.

Closing the fridge door, Tom poked his head around the doorway and looked over where Alex was blinking furiously, as thought trying his best to stay awake. "I found the soup, and I think it's still good too," Tom screwed off the lid and sniffed, making a face at the smell then pasting a confidence-inspiring smile on top of that, "Definitely still good."

"N't h'ng'y." the caterpillar shape that was Alex slurred out. Tom sighed and looked back down at the soup in his hand.

"Well, _I'm_ not eating it." He announced, screwed the lid back on, and dumped it back in the fridge. A muffled grunt from the living room was the only reply. Looking in, Tom noticed that Alex had turned his face into the pillow supporting his head.

With a sigh, Tom turned back to the fridge and stared at it for a couple seconds.

"_I'm_ hungry." He said, then raised his voice. "And you used to be so cute, what happened?"

The sound of hushed, and rather labored, but clearly audible snores reached his ears.

Tom sighed and shook his head with a rueful half-smile, closing the fridge after a gulp of milk from the carton and snagging a covered bowl of ravioli. "This looks edible." He muttered after careful examination.

The snores on the background steadily grew louder, interrupted regularly by coughs and wheezes, as Tom reheated the ravioli and sat at his small kitchen table to eat. The smile, small as it was, never left his face.

* * *

A sort of one shot while I work on the next chapter of Five Years.

This is listed as complete because while there are two-ish other chapters to it, I don't think it needs them and don't want to disappoint if the other two don't get posted. (There, is however, hombre-a-hombre attraction in the other two. And an ex-wife. Haha)

Sorry if the mumbled garble of Alex is hard to read.

Thanks for reading!

-Fridgeworks


	2. Reconaissance

A/N: At the top today, 'cause I'm testing it out. This chapter is longer, because I love you guys. : D (And because I don't know when to stop, but that's neither here nor there, eh?) Thanks so much for all the reviews! And the follows and the favorites! They warmed my sinful heart.

Next chapter should be the last. Not gonna make it a certainty, because I don't trust myself. Eheh. ^^'

Warning ahead: There be Alex angst and attraction. Also periods of introspection. And nigh indecipherable speech.

* * *

When Tom woke up the next morning it was to the incessant ringing of his cell phone directly beside his ear. "Urgggh." The teacher gargled rebelliously and grabbed at the phone halfheartedly, staring at the blinking text for a few, bleary seconds before he registered the caller.

It wasn't a caller he could ignore, to his dissatisfaction, and so it was with sleep numbed hands that he flipped the phone open and pressed it to his ear with a grumbled "Hello?"

A women's voice screeched at him from the other end, deafening him further. "I have been trying to reach you for six hours!" Tom looked at his wristwatch and blinked, it was almost 12 in the afternoon. "Am I so unimportant to you now that divorce is being settled that you can just ignore me whenever it so pleases you!?"

Tom shook his head indignantly then realized the voice on the other side couldn't see. "No, that's not true." He mumbled defensively in a quickly dissipating haze of sleep. "I had a late night, is all. Sorry." It was true, after eating dinner, Tom had cleaned everything up in the living room and spent the next 7 hours or so freaking out (possible exaggeration), then 5 hours after calming down and trying to convince himself it was all just a dream (possible truth).

"Let me guess: you were with some of your little 'friends'." the female sniped venomously. Tom sighed.

"No, Janice, I was not." He grumbled. "Why do you always have to think so badly of me? I was helping someone."

"Oh let me guess, one thing led to another and you ended up comforting them on the bed, but now as you look at them, probably while we talk, you realize what a huge mistake you made." Janice giggled hysterically, "I wouldn't put it past you." Tom actually growled.

"That was then, Janice, not now. It was an actual emergency." He just hated waking up to another mocking call from his soon to be ex-wife. "And whose fault is it do you think that I even considered sleeping with the receptionist? How's Bill?"

Tom could imagine Janice's lips pulling back in a snarl. "I started seeing Bill because you slept with that brunette bimbo, _he_ actually knows how to treat a woman." She snapped back.

"I have money on him actually being gay, you know." Tom said, with the casualness of any world weary teacher in the morning after a night of shock after shock, seeing an opening in the opponent's defenses that he could exploit. "No man can enjoy shopping for furniture and hygiene products as much as he does."

Were they speaking face to face, Janice would probably be trying to strangle him by now, Tom mused as there was a rather long pause. "Janice?" he asked, did he actually win for once?

No, not this time. "You mean like you?" Janice asked, rather sweetly. "So sensitive to a woman's needs that you couldn't take it anymore, had to shack with a man? Hmm?"

Tom hung up.

"Bitch." He snarled at the cellphone, "I was drunk, and he was a cross dresser, looked like a hotter bloody woman than you anyways."

With a long-suffering sigh Tom fell back on his bed, covering his eyes with one forearm. "Was that all she called for?" he grumbled. "To make me feel like a royal ass?" another sigh and he heaved himself up and off the bed. "Whatever, screw her."

Scratching the back of his neck and yawning, Tom made his way out of the room, no longer sleepy enough to consider falling back asleep, and down the stairs. Passing by the entryway, Tom noted his school bag still by the front door where he'd ditched it in his panic the night before. "I should probably call the school too." He muttered then yawned. "Later."

Wandering into the living room, Tom nearly forgot to check the couch for Alex and almost bypassed him on his way to the kitchen. From the corner of his eye the bright shock of Alex's blond hair was a marker against the dark maroon of the couch. Tom paused in his steps and turned to look at his visitor.

"Oh, yeah, you." He stood in the middle of the living room, staring almost blankly at the slumbering lump that was his best friend. His thoughts were slow, still waking up his mind puzzled over the existence of Alex Rider on his couch in his home.

"Love y' t', -ohm." Alex's hazed, muffled voice wasn't expected and Tom jumped with a exhalation he would argue to the death wasn't a shriek.

"Jesus, Alex! Warn me next time you're faking sleep!" He snapped, a hand over his heart, feeling it flutter nervously.

With a groan Alex slowly rolled over and offered a sleepy smile to his friend. "Had no 'dea y'd bec'm such a-" He paused to catch his breath before charging on, "chick'n since we l'st met." Tom narrowed his eyes to return the spy a glare but caught notice of the blond's left cheek in the process and paused.

"Hell, mate, that looks, well…_beautiful_." He said slowly with a level of awe. "I mean, I didn't know there could be that many colors in one bruise..."

A dry chuckle, more of a cough in Tom's opinion, rumbled forth from Alex. "Thank y', -ohm." He coughed a little more then attempted a yawn, stopping midway as his face contorted with pain. He shifted on the couch, testing his arm muscles against the firmness of the couch cushion and levered himself up an inch. His eyes scrutinized the sheets that covered his torso and lower half with a feeling that Tom was quick to decipher; the blond was about to try something.

There was a rustle of sheets as Alex tried to get into sitting position, wincing and hissing. Tom was quick to apprehend him before he got far. "Oye! No, no, no. You, my friend, are injured. You stay." Hurrying to the spy's side Tom gently pushed him back down.

"B't…I feel _fine_." Alex protested, a smile at the corner of his lips. Tom shook his head resolutely.

"So long as you're talking like a bloody invalid, I'm gonna treat you like one." he said, smoothing down the sheets covering Alex and wondering if he should tuck him in as well, extra insurance against the rebellious movement Alex Rider was known so well for.

Alex began to resist, as expected, but then seemed to think otherwise with a wince of pain and sank back down, but wasn't done fighting. "Ah've had w'rse." His eyes met Tom's, a challenge in the brown depths, as fiery as Tom had ever seen them.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. That tone of voice, the set of Alex's jaw, this was going to be a hard battle. "Alex," he said, exhaling a short breath. "This is not captivity, I am not holding you against your will to be tortured or experimented on, or both." He held up a finger as Alex opened his mouth to defend himself. "That was exactly what you're thinking, not outright, but somewhere in that freak brain of yours you feel cornered.

"That…_job_, of yours has you on your toes at all times. I'm willing to bet you're tensing as we speak, ready to leap at any moment, at any sign that I'll attempt to harm you." Tom smiled with something akin to wry sadness as Alex shook his head, but visibly forced himself to relax. "I really do want to help you, Alex. But, sadly, you're going to have to help me help you. Which, I'm afraid, entails you _staying_ there until you're fully rested and I've decided that you may get up."

Alex didn't speak when Tom finished his rather long-winded announcement, taking a deep breath at the end and waiting for the blond to respond. It took a few moments for Alex to mull over the words.

"Ah, um, well…" Alex blinked multiple times in fast succession then coughed. Tom's breath caught, had he gone too far? Shit. But then a grin spread over Alex's lips and a husky chuckle coughed from his lungs. "W'll, shit, -ohm, s'nce when did y' grow a pair?" His slurred speech did little to lessen the jab.

"I'm a teacher, it's part of the job requirement." Tom said, smiling again, albeit more in relief than humor. "So, are you going to stay? Or am I to give up on you?"

"Ah-ah s'ppose ah'll stay," Alex stopped grinning with a wince, having broken a scab on his lip by smiling.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. "You'll have to promise no kidnappings or mad scientists, in the house at least."

"S' long as y' stop yelling' in the m'rnin." Alex replied with a nod and closed his eyes, resting his head on his pillow, ignoring Tom's spluttering and half formed protests. The blond smiled a small little smile and appeared to fall back asleep almost immediately.

"Fucker." Tom grumbled, "I hope you get an aneurism and die." Sighing, Tom scratched at the beginnings of a grizzle along his jaw and turned to the kitchen. "I need tea, tea, tea, wonderful tea. At least tea is faithful and doesn't disappear for years on end only to show up bleeding and at death's goddamn door." The teacher raised his voice as his tirade extended, for the hearing pleasure of his guest, hearing a noncommittal grunt and wheeze behind him and grinned.

It took him a little longer than he expected to actually find the tea kettle, having thrown it somewhere in a fit of rage days before during an argument with The-Bitch-Who-Shan't-Be-Named-But-Who's-Name-Starts-With-A-J. Turned out, he'd gotten the thing lodged between the fridge and counter.

There was no denting, but Tom was rather impressed with himself. That was a narrow space, and the kettle was no slim bint. It had girth.

Having found the tea kettle, Tom filled 'er up and set it to boil over his gas stove. "And now we wait, wait for the water to boil so we may have a cuppa good tea. Tea that won't leave just because I was drunk and thought a man was a woman, because he really looked like one." He said under his breath, moving to grab a mug and an Earl Grey tea bag from the kitchen cupboards.

Sitting at the small, round table in the center of the kitchen, Tom set the mug, with tea bag inside, beside him and clasped his hands together. He did like to wait for the kettle to whistle.

_I hate waiting for the kettle to whistle._ Tom sighed and cast a glance to the clock by the fridge, it read 1:00. _I should probably call the school, tell them I'll be back tomorrow. _Looking around, Tom saw no phone in his immediate proximity. _It can wait._

5 minutes later shrill whistling built up and erupted from the tea kettle like a mini volcano of high pitched, ear drum shattering noise. Tom turned off the stove, grabbed the kettle's handle and filled his mug. He then returned the kettle to the stove and sat back down, watching the water slowly darken as the tea bag steeped.

He waited another 5 minutes for the tea to steep to his liking then grabbed a spoon from a drawer by the dishwasher to fish out the tea bag and toss it in the garbage. Moving next to the fridge, Tom pulled out a carton of milk and added about a teaspoon.

"And it is done." Tom announced in a grand manner, giving a little flourish, pausing and feeling foolish for having done so. He sat down again and settled both hands around the mug, feeling the warmth seep into his palms and up his arms, sighing contently. "Oh, tea, you are too wonderful to me." He murmured, sniffing the air above the mug and smelling heaven.

Sitting back in his chair, Tom nursed the mug close to his chest and took small, savoring sips, humming with every taste. "_This_ is the start of my good day." He decided, pushing the issue of his vengeful ex-wife out of his mind and focusing on the simple joy of good tea.

It took him nearly half an hour to finish the mug, having continued at the slow, steady pace he set for the entire mug. When he was down and set the mug down on the table with a click of finality, Tom sighed happily and rubbed again at his jaw line. "First order of business: shower and shave." But he didn't get up for a little while longer, preferring to relax in his chair for a few minutes and let the warmth of the tea settle completely in his mid-section.

When he did stand, Tom was slow, straightening with all the fluidity of an arthritis stricken man, feeling joints pop and bones creak with every movement. "Aaaah." He moaned, more in pleasure then in pain. "That was a good start to my day, indeed."

Carrying the now empty mug to the sink, Tom left it for later and departed from the kitchen. He climbed back up the stairs, looking over the lightly snoring lump on his couch that was Alex as he passed through the living room, and directly into the shower.

He stayed in the bathroom for over an hour. Leaving feeling refreshed, clean shaven and invigorated. The shower was, to Tom, the second most important part of the day. If you didn't enjoy your shower and rushed through it, how could you expect to succeed in life? You needed to smell nice, look nice and feel nice, was his philosophy.

Throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper on his way out, clad only in a towel, Tom went next to his room to pull on a pair of comfortable denims and a shirt. He was forced to go commando since all his underwear, boxer-briefs _and_ tighty-whiteys, were in the hamper and consequently not suitable as undergarments.

Grabbing his cell phone off the bed where he'd left it earlier, Tom checked the call log. No missed calls, no new messages, nothing. Sighing, Tom shoved the phone in a pocket and left the room. "I need more friends." Being a serious, hardworking teacher left virtually no room for a social life so Tom's friends were all from school when he was a student and many of them weren't around anymore to go to a pub at the drop of a hat.

He hadn't thought little socializing could ever hurt, when he and Janice first hooked up they would hang with her friends, so there was no problem there. And at the beginning often they had no need to go out, being two young, vivacious human beings.

But that was over and _her_ friends didn't speak to Tom anymore, which, he supposed, was understandable. But, that issue aside, he really had no one to hang out with who would contact him on a regular basis, unless school newsletters sent automatically to teachers and conferences and day camps for becoming a better teacher counted.

So phone in pocket, he did need to call the school sometime so he might as well carry the means with him for when he was motivated to do so, Tom left the room and ambled back downstairs again. Pausing in the living room to check on Alex, he wasn't surprised to find him still sleeping.

With a light shake of the head and a smile, Tom went again into the kitchen, collapsing into a chair and pulling his phone out. He stared at it for a good minute then shrugged and flipped it open, going to contacts and clicking 'School' with a small sigh. "Might as well now."

A new secretary, some fellow named Wesley who was always encroached on everyone's personal space, picked up on the third ring. "Mr. Harris! I heard about the family emergency, are you okay? Do you want me to come over? I can bring a casserole or tea or sandwiches or-or all of that!" Tom actually had to hold the phone away from his ear, Wesley had a way of speaking that felt as though he were spitting through the telephone lines.

When Wesley paused to take a deep breath, Tom spoke up. "No one died, Wesley, and I'm fine, it wasn't me who got hurt, but thank you for the offer." There was something wrong with the kid, didn't get enough love when he was little. "I was just calling to say that I'll be back tomorrow and to ask who's subbing for me."

"Oh! Of course, Mr. Harris, your wish is my command!" Wesley gushed, sounding much too eager. Tom groaned inwardly, and so began the ass-kissing. "I believe a sub from the big guys up top, a Ms. Kidman, checked in today as your substitute, Mr. Harris."

Tom nodded. "Ah, thank you, Wesley."

"No problem, Mr. Harris, anything for you!" Wesley said it with utmost exuberance, Tom could imagine the kid twirling a pen happily with a big grin on his face as he spoke. "What was the family emergency? Are they okay?"

Alex's voice wavered out from the living room. "-ohm? Ah'm hungry." Speak of the devil, Tom sighed. _Well, his speech is a little less slurred. Maybe it was a lack of sleep thing._

"Sorry, Wesley, I have to go, no time to talk more." He said. "Can you tell the principal that I'll be back tomorrow? Thanks, have a nice day."

"Oh—Yeah, yeah of cou-" Tom closed his phone with a snap and tossed it onto the table before heading to the living room.

"Ah seem to re-rehcall y' bein ob-obs'ssed with sports, -ohm, not aca-ahcade-dehmics." Alex said as casually as one could be when having trouble speaking without pauses and coughing fits, obediently staying on his back, turning his neck to look at Tom. "Ehngl'sh teacher?"

Tom stared at the spy. "How did you know I taught English?" he asked. Alex grinned like a cat.

"Ah know e'erythin." He said with a cough/laugh. "Ah know th't ah'm hungry."

Tom had to pause and think about that. "Um, I think I have some Chinese takeout from…yesterday?" he scratched his head. "I remember eating it in the past few days, at least."

Alex made a face at that. "Ehww…" he exhaled, Tom was slightly affronted by the disgust. He'd have thought that the spy knew struggles, knew that sometimes all you could eat was many days old takeout. _Evidently, not. _"Ohr'nge juice?" the spy suggested as a possible alternative.

"Actually, yes I do." Tom grinned triumphantly before pausing and staring the spy down. "Wait here…right. I'll be right back." Turning, Tom hurried back into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from a cupboard then the orange juice carton from the fridge.

He poured the orange juice to the brim and carried it back to the living room with an air of grandeur. "One glass of orange juice, coming _right_ up!"

"Ehxp'ration date?" Alex asked, adjusting his position upward with the help of a grudging Tom, the blond would have to if he was to eat at all, who sat the glass of juice on a side table. The spy ended up sitting with his back against the back of the couch and both legs curled under him. Tom nodded in reply to the question.

"Of course I checked, what do you take me for?" he arched both eyebrows and widened his eyes innocently. Alex just gave him a look and reached for the glass. "It's just fine."

"We'll see." Alex muttered and raised the glass shakily to his lips. _Maybe I shouldn't have filled it so high._ Tome thought in retrospect. But with all his misgivings, the cup was drained in what seemed to be a matter of seconds, Tom was impressed. That was a tall glass.

"Does it pass inspection, Mr. Bond?" Tom asked, taking the glass when it was offered him back. Alex wiped his mouth with the back of a still shaky hand and sneezed explosively.

"H'w have y' s'rvived so far?" He asked with a wheeze, rubbing his chest painfully. Tom shrugged.

"I get take-out a lot."

Alex nodded and returned to prone position. "Well, y' h'd better learn t' shop while ah'm here." He said. With that, Alex gestured for help in returning to a prone position on the couch and closed his eyes as soon as his head was parallel to the cushions. By all accounts he was immediately asleep.

Tom shot him the bird with a venom-lacking glare then sighed, his body curling inwards at the shoulders as though with the sigh went the soul that held up his bones and strengthened his limbs. It was a sigh of utmost weariness and exhaustion; of feeling the world's weight on his shoulders and knowing he'll have to bear it because no one else would. Or could.

"I guess I'll go clean the bathroom then."

Alex woke up to the neglected ringing of a phone. Shifting with a groan, oh how his body ached and pained, the spy turned to face the living room he lay in. There was no sign of any phone in the room to his sleep clouded eyes, no matter how hard he strained them at the dimmest corner.

"Bl'dy hell." He grumbled with a cough and turned over, burrowing into the blanket covering him, intent on wringing out ever last second of sleep he could manage. No incessant phone with its irritating ringtone was going to stop him.

Except the phone got louder. It blared out and made his eardrums bleed, it had Alex sitting up quickly and trying to clamber off the couch to destroy the damnable voice maker, but just as quickly doubling over in pain as his injuries caught up to him, and collapsed weakly over the arm of the couch.

"T-Tohm?" he shouted, or tried to shout. The most he could manage was a hacking raised voice. But it seemed to be enough because within seconds sock clad feet were pounding down the stairs.

"Don't get up!" the man exclaimed, rushing forward as soon as he hit level ground and gently pushing Alex back down onto the couch. "Jeez, mate, what is wrong with you?"

Alex fought feebly at his friend's restraining hands. "N-noise m'ker." he protested. "Ah was gonna-gonna sma—get it."

About to admonish Alex for being ridiculous, Tom paused and his grip on Alex's shoulders relaxed as his attention was drawn by something, a sound, that he couldn't place. "Is that my pho…? Oh, shit!" He scrambled to his feet and Alex watched him disappear through a doorway leading to what he assumed was the kitchen.

Barely having to strain his ears, Alex could hear quite clearly Tom's side of an argument.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't pick up-…what do you mean I'm ignoring you? I just forgot my phone downstairs! ...I don't care what your therapist says, why do you have a therapist?…That's no reason to get a therapist! If that's the case then I should get one for _being_ gay!…What? No, that was not me saying that I will, are you mental?...Alright, alright, wait one second. Yes. _One_. …why does everything have to be so difficult with you?" Before Alex had time to pretend like he hadn't been listening raptly to the one-side of the argument, which was very enlightening as arguments went, Tom had poked his head round the doorframe.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, a bit of color to his cheeks that hadn't been there before.

Alex's eyes opened wide and his shook his head. "N-not at *cough* all."

"Want me to go upstairs?"

"Feel free t-to stay down h-here." Alex couldn't help the twitch of a smile that touched his lips. Tom sighed.

"I'm going upstairs, sorry you had to hear all that." He said apologetically and pointed at the phone, adding in a hushed tone "My soon to be _ex_-wife". With a grimace and another apology, Tom made it up the stairs and out of earshot before Alex had time to think of anything to say that would make him stay downstairs and thusly 'eavesdroppable'.

Listening to the quiet of the house, Alex sighed and burrowed back down into the couch. _I need to get better soon. _Closing his eyes he tried to go back to the blank bliss that was his dreams lately, but try as he might the black just wouldn't come.

Alex wasn't tired. Out of the war zone that was his life, the skill of falling asleep when he needed wasn't turned on. He tried to keep the extreme skills as a spy as far from his home life as possible, so he wouldn't freak out when amongst civilians, but that backfired and made him something of an insomniac when off work.

In such a homey setting, as barren of nutrition as it was, Alex couldn't sleep more than his body wanted and decided it needed. Without the entertainment of Tom chatting with his 'soon to be _ex-_wife', television or even a good book, Alex was forced to lie on the couch and wish for the boredom to end. For Tom to come back in so they could talk, or play games or do _something_.

With a long, suffering sigh Alex pulled the covers off his torso and struggled into a sitting position, ignoring the protestation of his creaky, achy bones and joints. "I-I guess this is what I get for *cough* pissing off a big constr-struction equip-pment-t com-company CEO-O..." He muttered with a dry chuckle that quickly became another attempt of his body to expel a lung.

Sitting upright, while still slumped heavily against the back cushions of the couch, Alex was free to look around the room more freely. Adjusting the blankets to cover his lap, Alex noted the oriental nature of the carpet he had stained the night before with his blood. It looked expensive.

He quickly averted his eyes from the carpet, looking instead at the other decorative pieces the room had to offer. Had he stumbled into the house without knowing the inhabitant, Alex never would have guessed someone like Tom had lived there.

It was too well put together, on every shelf there was at least one elegant place holder, landscapes hung on the walls and on the mantel piece directly opposite Alex there was a stone placard with an inspiring phrase etched into the surface. It looked like a model home, not a soon-to-be bachelor's place.

The only thing that assured Alex he wasn't in a stranger's home, and that Tom did in fact live there, was one photograph on the side table beside the couch. In a plain brown frame was a photograph of the football team Alex and Tom were part of in school.

Looking closely, but taking care not to strain his body too much or he'd get it from Tom, Alex could find the both of them. Arms looped around each other's shoulders, grinning ear to ear, nearly pulling each other down the way they slouched against the other. A smile crossed Alex's lips to see the photo, of all photos Tom could have picked, there.

Turning away from the photo to purvey the room again, Alex was struck again by how un-Tom the place was. _The woman he's divorcing must have really ruled his life_. He mused and smiled at the thought. He couldn't imagine Tom letting anyone boss him around in how he lived.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Alex had slowly begun leaning forward, absently focusing on the oriental carpet. The blanket on his legs slipped off and without thinking, jerked abruptly from his thoughts, Alex fell with it as he tried to rescue it.

Landing heavily on the ground and getting the breath knocked out of him, Alex went immobile. For a good many moments he was frozen by the pain that blossomed in his ribs and spread to all his extremities.

The second he felt his limbs under his control again, Alex wasted no time in struggling to heave himself up back onto the couch. He'd managed to get one arm hooked onto the couch cushion and was working on levering his legs beneath his torso to pull himself back onto his temporary bed when one foot slipped on the blanket forgotten beneath him. Alex slipped backward, near rocketing back off the couch and slamming again against the ground with bone shattering force.

The impact knocked what little breath was left in his lungs back out and rendered him a quivering mass of pain and hate. _Ow, ow, ow, ow, bloody fucking ow. God why am I such a bloody invalid_? He groaned in his thoughts.

He'd surely had injuries worse than this and still managed to take down criminal overlords and their vengeful lackies. _Visit a friend and suddenly a few cracked ribs and bruises makes me a useless blob of bloody uselessness. _

Testing his limbs by twitching a muscle here and there and receiving painful stabs for every twitch Alex determined that he would be going nowhere of his own power anytime soon. He would have to get Tom's help, as much as his survival instinct, honed to perfection as it was, protested.

Knowing Tom was upstairs, presumably still speaking to his ex-wife, Alex tried to call out but only ended up wheezing painfully into the carpet. He tried to move again even a little but the blanket had wrapped itself tightly around his legs during the earlier struggle and pinned him to the floor.

Only his arms were free, but trying to reach something without it becoming too painful left him scrabbling weakly at the floor, just out of reach of the couch or another handhold.

Alex reluctantly stopped in his efforts. He was going to get nowhere fast and if he overexerted himself trying to get back on the couch and was a shaking, coughing mass when Tom found him it would just mean a longer sentence to rest. He would rather be up and walking in a few days than be confined to bed for weeks.

With a wheezy sigh, Alex let his body relax as much as was possible against the floor and stared up at the ceiling. Seeing no end to his situation in sight unless Tom got off the phone soon, knowing Tom's penchant for drawing out arguments that would be a miracle of the ages, Alex let his mind wander.

He remembered the one-sided conversation he'd overheard not very much earlier, the beginnings of a real spat between Tom and his soon ex-wife. _I'd…no idea Tom'd even married_. Alex thought, feeling very suddenly disconnected from his best friend.

He'd always fancied himself closest to Tom, forever he'd figured himself Tom's best man when the man ever got married, maybe even the Godfather to Tom's kids. In all his years, even after the start of his lifelong career as spy extraordinaire it had never crossed his mind that Tom might do things without him ever knowing.

Without ever really thinking about it, Alex had always assumed somewhere that Tom would always be waiting for him. Always pausing life until Alex got back and could share in the laughs and the games. _He got married while I was gone._ Alex's stare turned forlorn, his eyes grew unfocused and the corners of his lips turned down.

_Who was his best man? What stories were told and laughed at during the reception? Was I ever mentioned?_ Alex was afraid what the answer to any of those questions would be and mostly of the last one. He didn't want to be 'that guy', the deadbeat friend that excuses had to be made for.

Lying there on Tom's carpet, unable to move, surrounded by pieces of years he wasn't there to witness, Alex found his vision going misty. He shut his eyes, but the dampness spread to his cheeks and soaked into the hair beneath and behind his ears. He wanted to hate MI6 for stealing him from the life he could have had.

He wanted to hate the world for needing an adolescent teen to save them all in times of need when he could have been making foolish decisions and playing stupid games with his best mate.

But as the knot in his heart pulsed and ached, choking him, Alex found that of the hatred in his heart the entirety of it was for _himself_. Who _was_ he to expect Tom to always wait for him? Tom _had_ a life. He could only be expected to carry on when Alex never showed up at school or even sent letters.

Of course Tom would carry on with his life, he'd become a teacher for heaven's sake! At _Brooklands_, of all places. Teaching English nonetheless. Alex had never even knew that Tom liked English, he thought they shared a disdain for all school subjects equally.

He thought they shared everything. Every memory and every fight. Every late night chatter session and afterschool shenanigans. There was never anything to separate them but, as it turned out, Alex's 'job'.

But even then, Tom was always there for him. Always there to silently offer moral support against the school threat, the rumors and the whispers. Tom was his to laugh with, his to fight with, his to sigh with, _His. _Tom was _his._

The thought sprung through all of Alex's defenses unbidden. The sentiment was rife with possessiveness, terrifying in the truth of the feelings that prompted the statement. Alex's eyes shot open, he narrowed his gaze on a light fixture, he tried to burn the thought from his mind with heavy dose of fluorescent mind bleach.

Damp cheeks forgotten Alex's heart beat anew with a thumping that stabbed his chest with every pulse. His bruised ribs felt heavier with each second, his eyes thought were unrelenting in the ferocity with which they stared down the light fixture.

His mind raced. Think of something else. Think of something else. Something else Tom had said earlier before he'd left, "then I should get one for _being_ gay!" Okay. Okay. Alex's mind could work with that. Tom was gay. He was ga-

Alex's mind shuddered to a halt. His eyes slowly blinked and refocused on another portion of the ceiling, ignoring the afterimage of the light bulb. _Tom is gay._

Something deep within Alex's subconscious growled with pleasure. His eyes blinked once, twice more in fast succession. _That…is unexpected._

For a moment Alex stopped hating to focus on that single revelation bouncing around the expanse of his mind. His best friend was not only breaking up with a wife, but was…gay.

But just as soon Alex was reminded a sour truth that spoiled the revelation. _And of course I wasn't there to help him through whatever trouble he had figuring that out. I wasn't there._ His face screwed up in displeasure and he tried to ignore the little part of his mind, the part he was usually so good at ignoring, that expressed delight in the fact that Tom was…appreciative, of the same sex.

That subconscious part of his mind that seemed to be waking more and more as Alex was stuck there to ruminate on the floor rumbled happily. A rampant thought streaked across his mind, escaped from the holds of reason. _**Mine**__._

The thought was quickly stamped down in a panic and Alex tried to think of something, considering returning his gaze to the cleansing light of the fluorescent bulb, but at that moment a startled cry erupted from the doorway.

"Alex!" Tom exclaimed aghast, rushing to his side and kneeling to start untangling Alex's legs from the confines of the blanket. "Shit, man, I'm sorry I never heard anything!" Pausing to look Alex in the face, the spy was struck by just how blue Tom's eyes had become—startling so. "You okay?" Those blue eyes were shadowed with worry, Tom whipped away the blanket finally and threw it aside forgotten to hover his hands over Alex's still prone body. "Can you move?"

With a wry smile, Alex nodded against the carpet. "N'thing br-broken." His eyes crinkled at the corners to see Tom so harried at the thought of Alex injured from a mere fall. Blue eyes focused sharply on his brown, Alex was suddenly struck with the feeling that his soul was being examined.

"Were you…crying?" Tom asked slowly, not knowing how to approach the subject and settling on being frank. One of the reasons Alex appreciated his presence so much, the man knew not how to beat about the bush. Except, he realized, in situations like this. Him helpless on the floor, Tom looming over and hitting the nail on the head.

Alex managed a weak smile and tore his eyes from Tom's, twisting his head to stare at the individual strands of carpet. "Nothing, really. Gravity, I guess."

He wasn't expecting the hands that grabbed his face, on each cheek, and gently turned his head back around to face Tom. The teacher had adopted a stern expression that he must have picked up from having to reprimand students. "Tell me." Tom demanded softly.

Something, a stake perhaps like the ones used to kill vampires, dug into and twisted apart Alex's chest. He tried to look away again, but this time couldn't tear his eyes from Tom's. Finding himself drowning in those eyes, Alex had no choice but to answer. Take his mind away from the hands on his cheeks, burning hotter than the tears had before. He sighed and focused on Tom's nose, that was a safe spot. "I-I guess I just…realized how m-much of y'r life ah've…missed." He silently willed Tom to understand without needing him to elaborate, and kept his gaze on the teacher's nose, a simple one with a straight bridge and a slightly rounded tip, strong but still very _Tom._

He had to force himself back into the issue at hand, blearily recall what had Tom's face rapidly falling as realization dawned.

He shouldn't have worried about that. Suddenly, without regard for Alex's health, Tom up and pulled the spy into a rough hug. Finding his face shoved abruptly into Tom's shoulder, inhaling sharply, Alex was filled with the scent of Tom. It made him giddy, his eyes fluttered shut and his body went slack in Tom's tight grip, pressed against Tom's warm torso, feeling Tom's heart beat fast and strong.

"It's okay, mate, it really is." Tom mumbled after a few moments of silence had passed, his breath gusted lightly over the hairs on the top of Alex's head, tickling his scalp. "I never expected you to be there. The world is more important than just me. I always knew that."

Alex shook his head against Tom's neck, eyes closed and heart racing with each breath he took. "Ah, ah could've sent a—a l'tter or s'mthin. A lot. Ah di'n't."

Tom pulled away from the hug, holding Alex at an arm's length and smiled forgivingly. "Hey, I never tried to stop you. We're both to blame." Before Alex could reply he was being hoisted back up onto the couch with an ease that belittled his earlier efforts to save himself.

He was settled in a sitting position, leaning heavily on the back of the couch with the blanket returned to his lap, and Tom sat beside him, stretching out to fill up his half easily. They were silent for a few moments, collecting their thoughts and staring at the mantelpiece across the room, at the etched plaque with the inspirational, cheesy, phrase.

"I don't think we can have you sleeping on the couch anymore." Tom mused aloud, absently rubbing his chin with a hand. He looked over at Alex who met his eyes readily, curious. "Why don't you stay in my bed? Harder to fall out of a Queen-size. Maybe it'll be like the old days, we can have a sleepover." The tone of his voice grew nostalgic towards the end and a faraway look entered his eyes.

Alex smiled, his heart skipped a beat. "N't a bad 'dea." He murmured in agreement and ignored the part of him that admonished for having ulterior motives. Even if he wasn't planning on acting on anything, the invalid he was.

Tom's eyes cleared and he grinned sunnily. "Sounds like a plan, mate." He laughed and stood up, brushing down his denims before straightening fully. Meeting Alex's eyes again he nodded. "Good to have you back home. I missed you."

Then he was walking into the kitchen to scavenge something from the fridge and Alex was left staring after him, mouth left slightly agape. Recovering after a moment, he shook his head to clear it of all the thoughts that gave him misleading translations of everything that had just occurred and focused instead on the warmth that was slowly spreading through his chest.

"I'm…home." He whispered to himself, staring down at the blanket on his lap and trying futilely to tone down the wide, cheek splitting smile that overtook his face.

"You say something?" Tom poked his head round the doorway, amiable curiosity on his face. Alex shook his head.

The smile didn't leave his face as he spoke. "No, nothin." And if the grin that Tom flashed him before disappearing into the depths of the fridge once more made the warmth in his chest turn into a hot, burning flame, Alex would never admit it. Instead he repeated the statement in his head. _I'm home._


End file.
